The elevator doors slid open with a sharp ding, and I stepped into the thirty-fifth floor of Maddox Tech, clutching the sleek black folder HR had handed me like it was a shield.
The air here smelled different—like expensive coffee, printer ink, and ambition. Everything was glass, steel, and marble, and everyone walked like they had a million-dollar deal waiting on their desk. For a second, I felt like a kid sneaking into a castle she didn't belong in.
But I reminded myself—I wasn't here to belong. I was here to dig.
The first face I saw belonged to a guy in his late twenties, tall, with a too-tight tie and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was leaning against a glass desk, talking to a woman in a beige pencil skirt. The moment they spotted me, the smile snapped into place, polished and bright.
"New assistant?" he guessed, eyeing the folder clutched to my chest.
I forced a professional smile, one I'd practiced in the mirror before I even got here. Not too soft, not too friendly—just enough to blend in. "Aurora James. First day."
"Ah," he said knowingly, as if new assistants were as common here as fresh coffee filters. "Good luck. Maddox goes through assistants faster than printers go through ink."
The woman beside him chuckled, but it wasn't mean—it was the kind of laugh that said she'd been here long enough to see the truth in that statement.
I smiled again, though inside my stomach dipped. My intel file had said the same thing: Cole Maddox burned through assistants, either because they couldn't handle the pressure or because they couldn't handle him.
And now I was walking into that fire, only my mission didn't allow me to quit when things got hot.
"His office?" I asked lightly.
The guy pointed down the hall to the corner office with frosted glass doors. "End of the hall, right side. Watch your step."
I walked away before he could add more. My black heels clicked against the marble floor, steady and confident, though my pulse wasn't half as calm. Every second, I reminded myself of the cover story drilled into my head: Aurora James, ambitious assistant, excellent references, nothing suspicious about her.
By the time I reached the door, my palms were already clammy. I adjusted my grip on the folder, inhaled, and knocked.
"Come in."
His voice carried through the door—low, clipped, and commanding. It wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be. The kind of tone that cut through noise and went straight to your spine.
I opened the door and stepped into Cole Maddox's office for the first time.
It was huge. Sleek glass windows stretched across one wall, giving a full view of the city skyline. A massive desk dominated the center, covered in neatly stacked files, a laptop, and nothing else out of place. Not a single crooked pen or paper out of line. It was… unnervingly controlled.
And behind that desk sat the man himself.
Cole Maddox looked up from his laptop, and for a heartbeat, I forgot every line of training I'd rehearsed.
Sharp suit. Dark tie. Clean lines. His hair was slightly tousled, but it somehow made him look deliberate, not careless. His face was all harsh planes and sharp edges, the kind of face you didn't forget even if you tried. And those eyes—cold steel, watching me like I was a problem he had to solve.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.
"Ms. James," he said, not bothering with a smile. "You're late."
I blinked. "It's 8:58."
"8:58 is late. 8:55 is on time."
Heat crept up my neck, but I forced my face into a mask of composure. He wasn't going to rattle me—not two minutes in. "Duly noted."
His gaze flicked to the folder in my hands. "Sit."
I crossed the room and lowered myself into the chair opposite him. The leather was stiff, like it hadn't been sat in much. Probably because most people didn't last long enough to make an impression in this office.
Cole leaned back in his chair, studying me like I was a file he hadn't decided whether to keep or shred.
"You've read the NDA?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You understood it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then you know your life isn't yours anymore. It's mine."
The bluntness hit me like a slap, and for a second I almost forgot to breathe. But then I caught the flicker in his expression—challenge, not cruelty. He wanted to see if I'd flinch.
I didn't. I met his gaze, steady. "As long as the paycheck clears, Mr. Maddox, you can own my Mondays through Fridays. Weekends are mine."
His mouth twitched—almost a smirk, but not quite. "We'll see about that."
He turned his laptop around, sliding it toward me. The screen displayed a spreadsheet that looked like it had been cursed by math demons. Numbers, graphs, projections—things that made my head spin if I let them.
"You'll handle my scheduling, correspondence, and financial reconciliations. I don't want excuses. If something falls through the cracks, you fall with it."
I nodded, already tapping my nails lightly against the folder to ground myself. "Understood."
"And one more thing," he said, his voice softening but somehow becoming sharper at the same time. "Never lie to me."
The words landed like a knife against my ribs. I forced myself not to look away, not to shift in my seat.
Never lie.
If only he knew.
"Of course," I said smoothly, even though the lie slid off my tongue like oil.
He studied me for another long second, then turned the laptop back toward himself. "Good. Let's get started."
The next few hours were brutal. He moved at a pace that made Olympic sprinters look lazy. Calls, emails, meetings stacked on meetings. He rattled off instructions in clipped sentences, and I scrambled to keep up, writing notes in shorthand I barely understood myself.
But what shocked me most wasn't his ruthlessness. It was his precision. Every word, every move—it all had purpose. He wasn't just running a company; he was orchestrating it like a symphony. And somehow, he noticed everything.
At one point, when I shifted in my chair, he said without looking up, "Stop tapping your pen."
I froze. I hadn't even realized I was doing it.
By noon, my head was pounding, my fingers cramped from typing, and I was ninety percent sure he'd already decided I wasn't cut out for this.
But then, as he closed his laptop and stood, he paused.
"You didn't quit."
I blinked up at him. "Excuse me?"
"Most assistants," he said, slipping on his tailored jacket, "find an excuse to leave before lunch. You didn't. That's… surprising."
I couldn't tell if it was a compliment or a warning.
"Guess I'm full of surprises," I said before I could stop myself.
This time, his mouth definitely twitched. A shadow of a smile, quickly smothered.
"Lunch break. Thirty minutes. Don't be late."
And then he was gone, leaving me alone in his cavern of glass and silence.
The moment the door clicked shut, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My shoulders sagged, and I rubbed my temples.
God. If this was day one, how the hell was I supposed to last long enough to complete my mission?
But as I looked around his office—at the spotless desk, the towering view, the world of order he'd built around himself—I knew one thing.
Cole Maddox was hiding something.
The reports had said ruthless. The rumors were heartless. But sitting across from him, watching the shadows behind those sharp eyes, I'd seen something else.
Control. Fear. Secrets.
And maybe… just maybe… the tiniest flicker of humanity.
By the time I grabbed a quick coffee from the break room, I'd already drawn stares from at least five people. Whispers followed me down the hall, subtle but sharp.
"She won't last a week."
"Another one? Poor girl."
"Bet she cries by Friday."
I ignored them, sipping the bitter coffee and straightening my shoulders. Let them talk. Let them bet on how long I'd last. None of them knew the truth—I wasn't here to last.
I was here to expose him.
Or at least, that was the plan.
The problem was, every time I thought of his cold eyes flicking toward me, of the way his voice softened when he said never lie to me, my chest tightened.
And I couldn't shake the thought: maybe I wasn't the only liar in this office.